


The old-fashioned way

by Saetha



Series: O Swallow, have mercy on them [Febuwhump 2021 Prompt Fills] [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Recovering, FebuWhump2021, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, NAMOR BEING AWESOME CAUSE HE'S AWESOME, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Trauma, no beta we die like every woman fridged by Marvel’s writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: “Barnes.” Namor sounds calm, composed.“Namor.” Bucky’s voice is scratchy. He tries to move again, with the same results as earlier. “What-"Namor steps closer, until his shape resolves enough in front of Bucky’s eyes that he can make out Namor’s blurred expression. It is serious, although his gaze is not without sympathy.“You attacked one of our delegations to Latveria. It was…” he frowns. “Unpleasant.”*Bucky wakes up in Namor’s palace, with little memory as to how he got there. Namor is there, helping him to sort things out and to take are of his wounds.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Namor the Sub-Mariner
Series: O Swallow, have mercy on them [Febuwhump 2021 Prompt Fills] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138178
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	The old-fashioned way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImperiusRex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperiusRex/gifts).



> Kicking off Febuwhump with a ship I've been meaning to write for for five bloody years! This prompt was the perfect excuse to finally get on it. Dedicated to the wonderful Imperiuswrecked whose Tumblr lightens my day every time I see it. 
> 
> Written for Day 1 of Febuwhump. Prompt: Mind Control.

When Bucky comes to himself, it is in a room in Atlantis. Despite the usual splendour of Namor’s palace, the surroundings are darkened and the tones around him mostly muted, a balm on his eyes as he opens them. All his senses are still quivering and raw, his sight blurry and ears ringing. There is a foul taste in his mouth, of old blood and dirt.

He tries to move but finds that his metallic arm is a dead weight at his side, his shoulder and ribs screaming in protest at even the smallest of motions. It _hurts_ , in a way that should long be familiar to him, but still flays his senses until all he can do is try not to scream. He tries to quell the rising panic inside his chest when the door opens and a shape steps through. His sight isn’t clear enough to know who it is, but at least he recognises the voice once the shape begins to speak.

“Barnes.” Namor sounds calm, composed.

“Namor.” Bucky’s voice is scratchy. He tries to move again, with the same results as earlier. “What-“

Namor steps closer, until his shape resolves enough in front of Bucky’s eyes that he can make out Namor’s blurred expression. It is serious, although his gaze is not without sympathy.

“You attacked one of our delegations to Latveria. It was…” he frowns. “Unpleasant.”

“I-“ Bucky brings up his right arm against his forehead, frowns in pain as he tries to make sense of the muddled memories in his mind. A different kind of agony creeps through him like ice as he realises what must have happened. “I don’t remember.” The words are whispered so quietly that someone without Namor’s heightened senses might have had trouble hearing them.

His gaze softens ever so slightly then, although there is no other difference in his expression.

“We found the device that they used to control you, likely via some old tech in your arm. It is destroyed now; no need to trouble yourself about it further. I have also taken the liberty pursue and kill those who would…use you in such a way.”

Bucky nods, or at least tries to. The movement makes his head swim even worse, and he has to swallow against the rising nausea in his throat.

“How many did I kill?” Better ask now than be confronted with it later. He balls his right hand into a fist, relishing the feeling of pain as his nails dig into his palm and his body protests at the motion once again.

“Give us some credit.” There is a tiny smile playing around Namor’s lips now. “None. Although not all will be ready to go into the field again any time soon, if ever.”

“Ah.” Bucky deliberately takes a deep breath, notes how his ribs howl in pain. It is familiar in a way; something to anchor himself to. Something he deserves. Namor notices the way his face scrounges up in pain.

“Apologies for not healing you when you were sleeping,” he says, indicating Bucky’s broken ribs, the torn ligaments in his shoulder, and his non-functioning arm. “We weren’t sure the…effects would be wholly gone when you woke up. And I thought it better not to do anything to you whilst you weren’t awake to agree to it, on principle alone.”

Bucky nods his thanks, too exhausted to put into words what this gesture means to him. Not that Namor needs the words anyway; the man has known him for so many years, and they have shared so much. Not everything between them has to be spoken aloud.

Namor sits down next to him.

“Let me look at your shoulder,” he says, the full weight of royalty behind his voice. “Do you want anything for the pain?”

“No,” Bucky grinds out. He cannot take the thought of anything muddling his mind right now. Not again. “Shouldn’t you have doctors at your beck and call that could see to this?”

“I could call them, if you wish.” Namor rolls his shoulders. “But I do have some knowledge, myself.” He doesn’t add that, perhaps, unknown medics manipulating his body are not what Bucky necessarily wants or needs right now. Still, he knows that his wounds need to be looked after. _You are no longer the Winter Soldier_ , Bucky reminds himself. _You don’t have to do it on your own_.

Bucky sighs and helps Namor remove his shirt. He closes his eyes, leaning back into the pillows when Namor begins prodding at his shoulder, his touch firm, but not unkind. Bucky hisses, but tries to school his face into a neutral expression. _Do not betray your pain. The Winter Soldier is a machine, he knows no pain_. _They will punish you_.

Namor doesn’t tell him to relax. He doesn’t tell him that everything will be fine, that he’ll be safe. He simply stops, lets Bucky calm his ragged breathing, before he continues his ministrations, careful not to cause any more pain than necessary. He is equally gentle with his ribs, the touch of his fingers alone already a balm against the ache. Namor trails the tips of his fingers down Bucky’s chest, his touch as light as a feather. It’s been a while since Bucky has consciously let himself feel anything but touch out of necessity.

“Don’t start enjoying yourself too much, Barnes.” He looks at Namor’s face to see the ghost of a smile painted on his lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” Bucky teases. It is something he has always enjoyed – how Namor’s eyes glint at every challenge thrown his way, how he’ll never fail to answer it in kind.

“Later, perhaps.” Namor presses down against his ribs again and Bucky sinks back into the pillows with a yelp. He has achieved his goal, however – Bucky feels more at ease, more anchored to this traitorous body of his now that it has begun to remember kinder things.

“Always such a tease,” he sighs. Namor snorts, bending over to the table next to Bucky’s bed, removing a few implements from the top drawer.

“Do you want to do it the old-fashioned way, or do you prefer Atlantean medicine? You would fall asleep and wake up as good as new as the surface dwellers like to say.”

Bucky closes his eyes, considers the questions for a moment. He is aching all over and tired of being prodded, but there is still a fundamental fear inside him whenever he considers being knocked out and in the hands of unknown doctors, no matter how much good the procedures might do him.

“The old-fashioned way, if you don’t mind.” Namor watches him for a moment, then nods.

“At least take something for the pain,” he suggests. Bucky sighs, but accepts the glass Namor is offering him, emptying it in one long swallow. Whatever is inside, it works even on his enhanced body and the ache begins to recede after a few moments, making it easier to push it aside completely. Once again, Namor is efficient in his ministrations, not painless, but careful to not cause any more than necessary.

He stabilises Bucky’s injuries with a few deft movements so that he can breathe a little easier already, before turning his attention towards his arm.

“Wait.” Bucky holds out his right hand. He knows Namor doesn’t like to be touched or grabbed without agreeing beforehand and so his fingers hover a hand’s width over his skin. “Before you switch it back on. How long will I be staying here?”

“As long as you need to. You are a guest, Barnes, even if my court balks at the presence of a surface dweller such as you. Still, they are aware of our history, and none of them would dare go against my wishes.“

Bucky takes a deep breath, releases it. He knows how rare it is for Namor to extend such a courtesy to one not of his people; knows, too, how uncomfortable it would be for him to draw attention to the fact.

“You should.” His face falters and he licks his lips, tries again. “You should take it off for a while then. It can be removed easily.” He had insisted on this feature, together with the newest upgrades. It might be a priceless piece of technology, but sometimes, he needs to be without its presence for a while. Besides, it had been worth it alone for the expression on Steve’s face when Bucky had simply detached and handed him his arm in response to his ask to ‘give him a hand’.

Namor’s gaze is sharp and piercing as it searches Bucky’s face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He tells Namor how to remove the metal and how to store his appendage safely until he returns to the surface. A deep sigh escapes him when he the arm is finally gone, a strange levity suffusing his bones. He knows he isn’t truly human anymore, knows that he has long since been moulded into something else by the cruel hands of fate and Hydra. But then, Namor isn’t human either and, looking at him, his cocksure arrogance bolstered by true skill, the elegance of his gait, the gentleness that nonetheless lives in his hands, he knows that not being human isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Namor turns Bucky’s arm in his hands, brows furrowed in thought, before he sets it aside.

“I did not know that you would deign to place such…trust in us,” he finally says. Bucky feels his lips pull into another small smile.

“Not in all of your people, no. In _you_ ,” he tells him. Namor rocks back a little, clearly not having expected such an answer. Bucky wonders how often people have told him that they trust him unconditionally – not in the way subjects are forced to do, but in the way a friend does.

“You’re beginning to become impudent, Barnes.” Namor’s voice is without any heat, the sound of a tease caught at its edges instead.

“Oh?” Bucky wriggles a little. The pain has lessened thanks to the painkillers Namor has given him earlier. The missing weight of his arm means that he is feeling more comfortable, free to do what _he_ wants for a change, and the nausea and fuzziness in his mind are slowly subsiding. As strange as it is, but Namor’s presence makes him feel safe, in a way that few other people do. “In that case, perhaps you should try and shut me up.”

Namor arches one of his perfect eyebrows before he leans forwards, placing one knee next to Bucky on the bed.

“One does not order a king.”

His statements sends a laugh through Bucky – and then makes him hiss, as the movement jolts his ribs, sending another spike of pain too strong for even the painkillers to dampen through him. Namor’s brows crease slightly in worry, but he doesn’t comment on it, especially not when Bucky doesn’t seem to pay it any further mind.

“But one does, perhaps, invite a friend,” Bucky tells him. There is a spark in Namor’s eyes at his words, something soft and hungry. Bucky reaches up, runs his fingers over the tips of Namor’s ear before pressing them to the back of his neck. Namor follows the invitation, leaning down to press his lips against Bucky’s – and yes, yes this is exactly what he wanted. Freely given, with no expectations, no obligations attached.

“You haven’t forgotten,” Bucky says with a laugh when they part again. His hand is still on Namor’s neck, now slowly trailing down his back until it falls to the bed again. An echo of his smile is reflected on Namor’s own face as he answers.

“A king doesn’t forget.” He pulls a chair closer to the bed and sits down. “You haven’t told me how you fared over the past few years. It has been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“Do you have nowhere else to be?” Bucky wants to know. Namor shrugs.

“Everyone will understand if I want to spend a few hours with an old friend. Especially one who is sick and wounded.”

Bucky narrows his eyes slightly. One thing he has always appreciated about Namor is his frankness and unwillingness to pity those around him. The king of Atlantis is not without sympathy, but he isn’t one for overwrought displays of it. His caring is usually expressed in deeds rather than words.

“Is it pity then, that makes you stay here?” he demands to know. Namor sighs, rubs his forehead with his palm and for a moment he looks more human than most of the actual humans Bucky knows. It reminds him of late nights on the battlefields when grief and weariness had crept their way into their hearts and they were wondering how they could go on, if it would ever end.

“You should know better than to lash out at me,” he finally says. “It is pride placed at the wrong corner. I simply wish to enjoy the company of an old friend for a while, in words and otherwise.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, calms his nerves. He knows he is acting erratically, quickly flickering from one mood into the next, still so desperate to feel _normal_ again, to make sure that the mind control had not left any traces where he doesn’t know. To make sure that he is still _himself_. It is unfair to take it out on Namor, especially after he has shown such patience thus far.

“I can provide you with both,” he allows. “Words first, perhaps. Although I am not against…other things.” He smiles a little. “Steve has been trying to teach himself how to make bread.”

He continues his story from there, about their old companions and the strange ways that fate has carried them. Namor interjects here and there with questions. It is making Bucky miss the days of the past – not the war, of course not, but the camaraderie they used to share, Namor, Steve, Jim, Toro and him.

Their conversation peters out naturally, only interrupted by a meal and some more painkillers that are being brought to them. Finally, Namor stretches and stands from his seat at Bucky’s side.

“I suggest you try and sleep for now,” he says. “There will be plenty of time for more stories. And…other activities, if you are so inclined.”

“I am.” It is only now when he hears Namor’s words that he realises just how tired he is. His injuries might have been looked after, and he is as comfortable as he can be, but Bucky is still exhausted – even a superhuman body like his needs time to recuperate. That the thought of going to sleep and leaving himself defenceless doesn’t bother him says much about how safe he feels her, how he would still trust Namor with his life.

He smirks, just a little. Namor shakes his head in obvious amusement before he makes his way towards the door.

“Namor,” Bucky calls after him. Namor turns. “Thank you.”

Namor simply nods, the smallest of smiles playing around his lips.

“See you tomorrow, Barnes.”


End file.
